Fever (2 page)

Read Fever Online

Authors: Joan Swan

BOOK: Fever
8.79Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
The room went completely still. The extended, shocked moment expanded, taking on weight and mass and volume like one of the cancers Alyssa fought so hard to find and fight in her patients.
“Creek, what the fuck are you doing?” The older guard’s voice cracked the silence. “You’re not thinkin’, man. This stunt will get you thrown in the hole for a month.”
“Not if I don’t go back.” His forearms locked over Alyssa’s shoulders, keeping her tight against him. “Give me the gun.”
Oh, no. God, no
. Alyssa’s eyes popped open. In front of her, the older man had both hands held palms out. His face had lost two shades of color.
This
really
couldn’t be happening. She could almost convince herself if Creek’s body heat weren’t wearing on her as if she’d been hiking in the sun.
“Listen, Creek,” the guard said, “I heard about your appeal, but you’re not out of options, man. You know how this works. Just have to keep bucking the system. You’ll get another chance. This kind of shit will only get you—”
“Out of that living hell,” Creek finished. “Now, give me the damn gun before I cut her open.”
Something pinched Alyssa’s neck. She gasped. Or at least she tried. Only a thread of air got through. Warm liquid trickled down her neck. “Do ... something.”
“You heard her, boys.” His voice dipped to a dangerously desperate tone. “Do what I say or she’ll be dead before she hits the floor. And you know where I’ll be? No worse off than I was when I woke up this morning. Give me the gun,
right fucking now
.”
To Alyssa’s utter disbelief, the older guard pursed his lips, dug his hands into his hips and nodded at the younger officer. “Do it.”
“
What?
” Alyssa squeaked. If that gun reached Creek’s hand, every chance she had evaporated. “No!”
The younger guard stepped forward, the weapon held out, butt first. After one more glance at the older officer, he slapped the gun into Creek’s palm. Alyssa’s vision blackened at the edges.
“Give me your gear,” Creek ordered. “Both of you. Now.”
They obeyed, setting their radios, sticks and whistles on the foldout desk. Creek pressed the gun to the base of Alyssa’s skull. The scissors rasped closed and disappeared. She took one luscious, deep, shaky breath. Air had never tasted so good.
“Keys,” Creek said. “Uncuff me.”
The older guard unhooked his keys from a belt loop and dropped them on the desk, his expression angry but resolute. “Make your new girlfriend do it for you.”
“You bastard.” If she could have reached that guard, she’d have decked him. “How dare you—”
“Dump your keys, kid,” Teague said to the younger man.
Once Farmboy’s keys joined the others, Creek lifted his chin toward the half bath tucked into the corner of the room for patient’s use redirecting the weapon toward them. “Both of you, in.”
He pushed Alyssa forward as the men crowded into the tiny space. Within sixty seconds she’d be alone with Creek. No one came down this hallway but prisoners and guards, and look how well that had worked out.
Creek’s grip shifted and the chain loosened, offering instant relief, but her skin still simmered as if it had been fried in oil. “Oh, my God. What’s on that chain? You
burned
me.”
His arm came up and across her throat. “One twist, and I’ll break your neck. Then you’ll forget all about the burn. You’re no safer now than you were a second ago, so don’t get cocky.”
Fear and betrayal mingled with confusion and exhaustion, resulting in white-hot anger. “I’m not cocky, I’m
pissed off
. If you want to screw up your own life, go right ahead, but I can screw up my own just fine.”
His chin scraped her temple when he looked down at her.
“You won’t make it past the others,” Farmboy said.
“Others?” Creek’s voice lightened with sarcasm and victory, yet still sounded starkly powerful and authoritative in comparison to the guard’s. “I happen to know there’s only
one
other. And I’d tell you to watch me, but the first one who sticks his head out that door will get a bullet to the brain.
“Close the door,” he ordered in Alyssa’s ear, “and put that chair under the knob.”
She did as she was told, trying to do the lousiest job possible. Not hard considering she had a two-hundred-pound—
burning—
proverbial monkey on her back.
“Do it right,” Creek said. “Or you’ll be responsible for getting their heads blown off.”
Just what she needed—a guilt trip. She wedged the chair’s metal bar beneath the knob. With the cabinets securing the chair’s feet, those guards wouldn’t be going anywhere anytime soon.
“Good girl. Stay that way and you’ll be fine.” Creek walked her backwards, pausing at the desk. “Pick them up.”
Gladly. Alyssa wedged the individual keys between her fingers like claws.
“And put them in your pocket,” he said.
Dammit
. “I don’t have pockets.”
Creek tightened his arm on her throat. “You
have
pockets.”
She couldn’t swallow. Could barely breathe. And, damn, her neck
hurt
. Alyssa shoved the keys into the breast pocket of her scrubs.
“Good girl.” Creek loosened his hold and dragged her toward the door. “I don’t want to hurt you, but I will if I have to. Got me?”
“You’ve already hurt me.” Alyssa took deep, quick breaths, savoring the oxygen. “It would be smarter to let me go and get the hell out of here as fast as you can. I’ll only slow you down.”
He didn’t respond. He was busy perusing the length of the hallway, empty now at nearly six o’clock. The side doors, where all prisoners entered and exited the hospital, were just twenty feet away. Twenty feet. Surely, he’d release her when he hit the exit. She couldn’t consider any other outcome.
And just to push her own desired outcome forward, she kept talking. What man in his right mind would want a pissy, ranting female along for the ride? “Look, I really don’t have time for this. I’ve got critical patients in the ICU who could die if I don’t get PICC lines in them A.S.A.P.”
It was true they could die, just not from the lack of a PICC line. But he didn’t know that.
“Not my problem. And stop talking in acronyms. It’s annoying as hell.”
“I’d be a lot less annoying if you let me go.”
“I can see you’re going to have to learn to keep your mouth shut. That’s not what I expected from you.”
“From
me?
What does that mean?”
He didn’t answer as they approached the exit, where late fall sunlight filtered through the glass. Screw whatever he might have meant. Freedom inched closer with every step. That’s what she had to focus on: reaching that door.
But Creek stopped too soon.
At a doorway leading into a holding area, he tapped the fake paneling with the muzzle of the guard’s gun in some cryptic Morse code-type pattern. The door burst open with such force, Creek jerked Alyssa back and twisted, putting his body between her and whoever or whatever was in that room. In that moment, his massive body engulfed hers giving her a flickering sense of complete protection.
“Hey, man.” A rough voice, filled with almost boyish glee, sounded on the other side of Creek. “You gotta see this.”
He straightened and turned them both back around. Another prisoner stood at the door, no cuffs, no leg irons. He had a gun stuffed in the waistband of his navy prison sweatpants, and the grin on his unshaven face matched the mischief in his tone. But his eyes ... There was definitely something wrong in the brain behind those eyes. Alyssa had worked with too many mentally deficient patients to miss it.
Reflexively, she pressed back against Creek as Psycho Prisoner eyed her up and down, too thoroughly, too slowly. She caught a whimper in her throat before it escaped.
His lips lifted in more of a sneer than a smile. “Would have preferred a purebred, but she’ll do.” He squinted at her throat. “What’d you do to her? That’s wicked cool, man.”
Creek took a step and nudged her forward. Alyssa pushed back. He shoved again, harder. A frantic edge cut at her belly. Bile lunged up her chest, burning the back of her throat.
“Look at them.” Psycho tossed a hand toward the back of the holding area, filled with empty gurneys and chairs. Another officer sat in the corner, his hands, feet and mouth bound with compression tape. “Stupid sonofabitch. He was so easy it wasn’t even fun.” He pulled a pair of handcuffs from his sweats. “Got some toys, too.”
“Great.” Creek’s gaze darted toward the hall, the exit, then back. “Let’s get out of here.”
Yes!
Alyssa almost yelled the word. Relief and hope broke through the fear. She was almost free. This time, when Creek pushed her, she moved. Five more steps ... four ... three ...
They stopped just inside the doorway. This was it. As soon as these jerks were gone, she’d hit the bathroom, clean herself up, grab some burn gel from the E.R. and call one of the radiologists from their partner clinic across the street to cover for the night. Then, she’d head to the nearest bar and drink this whole nightmare away.
“Get these off of me.” Creek’s voice interrupted Alyssa’s fantasy. He extended his hands in front of her face. “Keys are in her pocket.”
Psycho scanned Alyssa’s shirt, a lewd grin on his face. “My pleasure.”
He pushed his hand into her pocket and grabbed her breast. Disgust twisted Alyssa’s throat closed. She knocked his arm up and away. The knit of keys flew out of his hand and across the room.
The pupils of Psycho’s eyes expanded, turning his muddy hazel irises nearly black with rage. Alyssa identified with the emotion. She’d been attacked by someone she’d been trying to help, abandoned by someone who should have helped her, and now, she’d been molested by scum living off her tax dollars. Rage? Yeah. She definitely identified.
“Don’t
touch
me, you—”
Creek turned, pulling Alyssa with him. “Stop fucking around, Taz.”
Psycho whipped another key from his own front chest pocket, but his cold, cutting eyes stayed on Alyssa. He slipped the key into the cuffs, and with a
click,
Creek was free.
An instant later, Creek had his big hand around her wrist. The cuffs were so warm she didn’t feel them close. By the time her reflexes kicked in, she was captive. She stared at the contrast of her fine fingers and slender wrists against the thick metal cuffs. Hands her mother forever insisted were made for dishes and diapers. Hands Alyssa eternally argued were destined for helping and healing.
Surreal. Absurd. Fallacious.
This isn’t happening.
Creek put one hand in the middle of her back, pushed her into the hall and turned her toward the exit door.
This
is
happening.
Her stomach lifted, then dropped, then went queasy, like it did when she rode a roller coaster.
Alyssa planted her feet and leaned back. “I’m not going out there.”
He fisted the back of her scrub top and used the bulk of his body to force her through the doorway.
Alyssa twisted, grabbed the metal frame with both hands. “I’m
not
going.”
“Oh, yes, you are.”
“No!” Alyssa held on with every last muscle fiber in her fingers. “You got what you wanted. Leave me here.”
Psycho elbowed his way out the door. “There’s the car. I told you it’d be here. Let’s go.”
“Don’t make this harder than it has to be.” Creek’s tense voice ground in her ear. “Let go of the door before I break your arm.”
“No.” Her feet skidded forward as he pushed harder. Her wrists ached from the bite of the cuffs. Her fingers burned from grasping the metal. “No! I’m not go—”
Psycho’s hand blurred in front of her eyes a split second before her head snapped sideways. Fire erupted in her cheek, spread through her face. Blood seeped onto her tongue, the metallic bitterness adding another level of realism to this nightmare.
Taz gripped her face in one meaty hand and jerked her toward him. “Shut the fuck up, you goddamned
gook
.” He smacked a piece of tape over her mouth. “You fuck this up for us and I’ll gut you.”
Creek yanked her out of Psycho’s reach, and closed that big body around hers again. “Chill, Taz. The only person who’s going to fuck this up for us is you. Get the car.”
Alyssa let her eyes close. Pain buzzed across her face. Shock numbed her brain. At some point, she’d started to shake, and couldn’t control it. She’d never been hit before. Not by any man she’d ever dated, even in the most heated argument. Not by any one of her four older brothers, even during a tussle. Not even so much as a spanking as a child, even though she’d given her parents plenty of cause. She’d spent the entire twenty-eight years of her life abuse free. Until now.
She’d also never been taunted with racial slurs, probably because she looked more Caucasian than Asian. The combination of violence and racism shook her solid foundation.

Other books

Whisky on My Mind by Blakemore-Mowle, Karlene
Heaven's Bones by Samantha Henderson
The Rehearsal by Eleanor Catton
True (. . . Sort Of) by Katherine Hannigan
Ever Enough by Borel, Stacy